


In Which John Makes Sherlock Apologize Through The Use Of Socks

by ATouchOfCommonSense



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, For Science!, Humor, John is Not Amused, John is a Bit Not Good, POV John Watson, Science Experiments, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Socks, but it’s all in good fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATouchOfCommonSense/pseuds/ATouchOfCommonSense
Summary: Sherlock crouched to the floor and drew John’s trousers up enough to expose his multicolored ankles. “This should be a crime, you know.”*John discovers Sherlock is offended by mismatched socks and is forced to use this fact against him.





	In Which John Makes Sherlock Apologize Through The Use Of Socks

It wasn’t John’s fault that he ran out of matching socks last week. If one is looking at it purely objectively, it was more Sherlock’s fault than any. 

Despite his obsessive compulsive tendencies towards his own socks, Sherlock had no qualms raiding John’s drawer and pulling out his cotton accessories to experiment. John supposed that was rather hypocritical of him, but that was a fairly common thing, wasn’t it?

So says Sherlock, John’s cheaper-and-therefore-of-lower-quality-socks were perfect sponges to hold various volatile and highly flammable substances. Said sponges were promptly lit with a mini blowtorch one by one and intensely scrutinized until the concoctions were nothing more than little black masses. Let it never be said that Sherlock Holmes lacks dramatics. 

So, that left John down a few socks. Three of the seven deceased left a grieving loved one to suffer without their matching half. Which was a dramatic way of saying John should have thrown away his three socks that no longer had pairs. They weren’t his favorite socks— they were actually some of his least favorite, which Sherlock probably did on purpose to avoid John’s wrath— so why keep them around? He should have binned them and used Sherlock’s bank card to buy some ridiculously expensive and obnoxious new socks, just for spite. 

And that’s what he planned to do, too.

But as he stared through his computer screen at the cashmere knee high black socks with little ears and stitched on cat whiskers (which were so ridiculous they would have no trouble driving Sherlock around the bend) he found himself thinking about his threadbare, lonely socks. It wasn’t their fault their friends got burned to death. John couldn’t imagine being deemed as useless because his partner died a fiery death. 

Which is how John found himself wearing one black sock with a white stripe and one grey sock with a blue toe the following day. His trousers were long enough that it didn’t matter what socks he wore. No one would ever notice.

*

Why John continually forgot his flatmate was a genius was beyond him. Of course he would notice the socks. And of course he would make a fuss about it.

“John, I notice your need fix others lives extends to inanimate objects now.” Sherlock said, quite out of the blue after a bout of silence that meant ‘Its thinky time; do be sure to breathe quietly. Or, leave. Whichever is easiest.’

John, who had been lost in a copy of Medical Evolution Through The Ages, startled at Sherlock’s outburst. “What? Who am I fixing?”

“Do keep up, John,” Sherlock sighed. “Do you plan on making a habit out of making sure your clothing feels loved?”

“Oh. The socks.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock wore an expression between exasperation and pity, a look reserved for grieving mothers confronted on cases and John. “The socks.”

He then crouched to the floor and drew John’s trousers up enough to expose his multicolored ankles. “This should be a crime, you know.”

“Hey, mismatched is a style for some people!”

“Yes,” Sherlock conceded, standing to impose his full height on John. “So is major body modification. That doesn’t mean it’s a smart idea. Go change.”

John smirked, cocking an eyebrow challengingly. He really had sent meant to bother Sherlock with his fashion choice, but after the sock incident he wasn’t opposed to a bit of rebellion once in a while. “Oh, really.”

“Yes, really, John. I can’t think with your breathing AND your lack of color coordination.”

“I don’t think I will,” John teased, a rather malicious idea forming. “In fact…”

Easing back into his chair theatrically, John toes off his shoes agonizingly slow. Once off, John stuck his mismatched feet in Sherlock’s face, wiggling his toes.

The noise that came out of Sherlock was so appalled one would think John had just insulted his dear old grandmother at her funeral. Faster than one could say “pieds puants”, Sherlock was all but sprinting out of the sitting room, yelling “You are a fiend, John Watson! I refuse to work under these conditions!”

*

John was not a sadistic man. But a flatmate that was offended by socks was just too good to pass up. Especially when he had killed off a good portion of his friends poor collection. After Sherlock had a good stomp about the flat, John calmly got up and headed to his room. Benefits of Stroppy Sherlock: he actively ignored John until it was absolutely impossible. Therefore, John had no problem surprising Sherlock by coming into the kitchen in a plain blue knee high on his right foot and an ankle-high polka dotted green sock on the left. And shorts to show them off.

Sherlock, without looking up from his toaster disassembling, flinched when John walked in the room. “John, what in God’s name are you wearing.”

“What?” John asked with a twirl, mock offended. “Don’t you like it?” 

Sherlock, blinked at his current experiment for a moment before promptly standing up from the kitchen table and turning to face the wall opposite John. “No, I do not like it. If your goal is to make me apologize, however, you are sorely mistaken. Your socks were valuable assets to my experiment and they sacrificed themselves valiantly.”

“Actually, I think I’m well on my way to making you apologize because you can’t even look at me right now,” said John, failing to conceal his laughter. “That’s going to get inconvenient for you very quickly. What with me being your flatmate and blogger and all. Also, my socks did not ‘sacrifice themselves’, you stole them from their home and left three widows to grieve over their violent death!”

Sherlock, who had apparently gotten sick of standing in one place, started to walk into the sitting room, still avoiding John’s gaze. “John, while anthropomorphizing is a rather common trait in humans, it is extremely pedestrian and I ask you to refrain from doing so in my presence.”

John knew it was a moot point to explain to Sherlock that he had been doing the same thing in the last sentence he uttered. “What’ll it be, Sherlock. Apologize, or suffer the consequences.”

“You do know I don’t actually care what you wear,” Sherlock said, flippantly. “I am simply embarrassed on your behalf.”

“Yes, I can see that. The way to turn to face the opposite direction every time I step into your field of view proves your point to the nine.”

“You forget I was under the impression I borrowed socks you have not attached sentiment to. That was what I was inclined to believe before this little display. I never again shall underestimate your sentiment again, John Watson.”

That was as good an apology as any, John supposed.

“Thank you.” John then when upstairs, victorious, and put on matching socks.

And bought the cashmere kitten ones that night.

*


End file.
